


Tis a pity he's a whore

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: From the Kink Meme prompt:On a long campaign, Arthur sees a tall, beautiful dark-haired man regularly going into the knights' and soldiers' tents at night and assumes he is one of the camp 'followers'.





	Tis a pity he's a whore

**Author's Note:**

> I realised there is a much better fic with the same title after I had already used the it, and it seems more confusing to change it now because I already posted it on the meme, so I'm sorry about that.

There he goes again. 

Every night Arthur sees him, slim frame bending down as he ducks into one tent or another. 

It is not an unusual sight, they’ve been laying siege to Lot’s kingdom for months now, and an army encampment is bound to attract certain kinds of follower. The dispossessed, the hungry, the ambitious; all can make their lives slightly better by lending a little ‘comfort’ to a soldier. 

Arthur, as the commander of these troops, is usually a little removed from the goings on. It would take a very ambitious whore indeed to take themself to the tent of the Prince of Camelot. 

Instead, he watches. He sees Clara, a bubbly blond with a kind smile who has been with them since Cenred’s men decimated her village, she comes out of Bedivere's tent, laughing as she laces up the front of her dress – he suspects she is more of a Bedivere follower than a camp follower, he no longer sees her with anyone else. Maud, tall and pretty yet world weary – she doesn’t say much but won’t do anything she doesn’t chose to – has already disappeared into another tent with a couple of squires. Arthur doesn’t stop it, not Maud, not Clara, not any of them; he once thought he had the right to do so, he has since learnt he was wrong. 

It is not so often a young man will join the ranks of these camp followers, perhaps that is why the boy catches Arthur’s eye. Boys are usually more inclined join the army itself, although he’s sure half the women would too if his father allowed it. Besides, there is no shortage of men here already, and many are not adverse to the company of another, so it seems strange indeed to have a man here who is not here to fight.

Is that why he notices him? Arthur’s eyes always seem to be drawn to him from a distance as he makes his way between the tents. His walk is elegant and unashamed, his frame tall and thin, his hair dark. Someone speaks as he passes and the boy throws back a comment that is lost to Arthur. There is shared laughter and then the boy ducks into another tent. Leon’s, Arthur’s mind supplies, and he pushes down a feeling in his gut that is absolutely not jealousy or anything resembling it.

It is not the boy himself, of course. It can’t be. Arthur has never spoken to him, never even seen him close up. But it has been a long campaign, and prince or not, he is only human, and he does get lonely. His preference has always leant more towards the male body than the female. How would it be, just for one night, or even half an hour, to have that slender frame in his arms? Even though half the camp seems to have already had that pleasure, Arthur still doesn’t think he could find it within himself to say no.

He finds himself imagining what could be going on inside that tent. It is not Leon he craves, although they have, as boys, explored those paths. It is more a way of working up his own jealousy as he pictures the two of them now, in that tent, Leon kissing the boy, pushing him to his knees… 

“Are you all right?”

Arthur jumps to his feet, startled at the voice. It is not often that someone can sneak up on him, but clearly sexual frustration has him distracted. 

The boy, no, man standing in front of him is tall, and a little older than he has assumed from a distance, although perhaps still a couple of years his junior. Up close, he is exquisite, his skin glowing in the firelight. Had Leon really finished with him so soon? Arthur would not him go that fast. Or has Arthur been distracted longer than he thought?

“Can I help you?” he hears himself reply haughtily.

The man shakes his head. “I just always see you sitting out here alone. I thought I’d come and check you were all right. Do you need anything?”

“Not from the likes of you.” Arthur has no idea why things like this sometimes come out of his mouth. There is no one here he would rather spend time with more than this mysterious man who has captured his attention so often lately, and yet the first chance he gets to speak to him, he chases him off with the harsh tongue he inherited from his father.

The man looks surprised, and a little hurt. This close Arthur can see that he has the most stunning cheekbones, the light from the fire picking them out in sharp relief and creating shadows on the boy’s face that make him look almost like one of they fae. It is hard to tell in this low light what colour his eyes are, they look almost black right now, perhaps he really is otherworldly.

“I was only checking you were all right, there is no need to be a prat about it.” Those dark eyes are now glaring at Arthur, and Arthur fully knows he deserves it, but now he has committed himself to this self-destructive path he seems unable to stop, and it seems worth it to get the heat of the boy’s attention.

“That is no way to talk to your prince!”

A dark eyebrow quirks and now it almost feels like the fire is actually coming from the man’s gaze rather than simply reflected in it. 

“I do apologise, your royal pratliness. I will not make the mistake of coming to check on you again.” The man turns to go and Arthur has to stop him, he can’t leave yet, even though it is Arthur’s own fault that he’s doing so. 

“Wait!” His breath catches as those eyes turn back to fix on him. Never has he seen a creature so bewitching as this. He needs to feel this man’s skin beneath his hands, beneath his lips, to taste him… “I did not give you permission to leave.”

The boy quirks an eyebrow but says nothing.

“What do they call you?” Arthur’s palms are inexplicably sweaty. Perhaps the fire is hotter than he thought.

“Merlin.” Merlin. Arthur plays the name around in his head, liking the way it sounds in Merlin’s own deep musical voice.

“I’m Arthur,” he blurts out stupidly. 

Merlin’s mouth quirks into a grin. “I know.”

The urge to lean forwards and press his mouth to those lips is too strong. He is the Crown Prince, he must not succumb to such desires. He turns away, dragging his gaze to the side. Merlin might be a whore, but he should still get to choose whom he lies with. 

Arthur holds no delusions about anyone actually wanting him for himself. People either want to sleep with him because they seek gain, or because they are too afraid not to. Arthur learnt that the hard way, with knights from lesser families who sought to raise their name by bedding the prince, or in one case a servant who thought they had to do what he asked – the former he could deal with, the latter he sent away before they began, with the promise his job was safe. 

“You have been tending my men well,” he says, and if his words are vicious, it is only himself he is trying to hurt.

A genuine, honest grin breaks out on Merlin’s face, like Arthur has just complimented him on something other than his skills as a two-bit whore. “I was unaware you even knew I was here.”

If Arthur can feel a blush staining his cheeks, he can attribute that to the fire too. He doesn’t answer, what could he possibly say?

“Would you care for some mead?” he says instead, scrabbling around for a reason to keep Merlin here without actually dragging him to his tent to perform the same acts Merlin has no doubt performed on a good number of the men here. Arthur will not be crass, Arthur will not abuse someone who is under his protection, if a move is to be made, it must be initiated by Merlin. 

And that is how he finds himself sitting by the fire supping mead with one of the whores of Camelot, trying not to stare at his mouth as he drinks, or the long column of his throat as it works around the liquid. This boy, man, is perfection, and tamping down the want inside is almost painful.

 

***

 

Somehow, it has become custom over the last week or so for Merlin to stop by Arthur’s fire after he has finished his visits. They drink mead and talk, nothing more. 

It’s not that Arthur doesn’t want more, but he won’t push for anything Merlin doesn’t want to give. He quite likes just talking, he’s never really had many friends, and he doesn’t want to jeopardise that. He also doesn’t want Merlin to feel there is a price he has to pay for a little companionship. He likes talking to Merlin.

It’s a strange thing, really. Everyone Arthur has ever spoken to, apart from his father and Morganna, has always treated him with the respect due to his station. Even Leon has a certain deference about him. But Merlin, Merlin doesn’t seem to get that a prostitute and a prince are not on the same social standing, that he should bow his head and not look Arthur in the eye, that he should not speak his mind as he does. And Arthur, so help him – Arthur loves that.

Never before has he been told that he is a prat, or a stuck-up clotpole, a dollophead or that he could be wrong about anything. The honesty is refreshing and he finds himself wishing that more people would indulge in such things. Perhaps if someone had tried being honest with his father years ago, there would be a lot fewer dead sorcerers in the world. Hell, Cenred would probably never have risen to power and lost it so utterly, Lot would not have made his move, and they would not be here now. 

Merlin speaks his mind, and what a wonderful, funny, intelligent mind it is. As much as Arthur is attracted to him, and it is an attraction that has only grown since actually speaking to him, he would rather not jeopardise this fragile new friendship by asking the same thing of Merlin that all those other men do. His resolve may be fraying around the edges, but it holds still. The choice will be be Merlin’s or not at all.

Merlin tells him of his home, of his mother and village life. He tells him of the raiders, a man called Kanen and his cohorts, who came and took their harvest and how Merlin and his mother fled to Camelot for protection, even though Ealdor is technically in what were Cenred’s lands and therefore now it belongs to Lot. 

Merlin’s story is similar to many Arthur has heard. No doubt he undertook this life to send money home to his mother. Perhaps Arthur should offer him a job as his squire or something. But then, would that be fair? To elevate one person and not the others? And would it be fair even to Merlin, when what Arthur really wants is exactly what he’d be pretending to take Merlin away from.

He rubs his eyes, trying to brush away the conflicting thoughts running in mad circles around his head. 

“So anyway, Gaius thought maybe we could catch the flying horse with a magic rope borrowed from the fairies and you could perform a few magic tricks to calm it down.”

Arthur frowns and looks up. “What?”

“Oh good, you are listening, I thought I was talking to myself.” Merlin’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Look, I can go if you want.”

“No,” Arthur says quickly. He doesn’t want Merlin to go, he never wants Merlin to go. It’s not that he wasn’t listening, exactly. Well, no, he really wasn’t listening, he couldn’t tell you a single thing Merlin had been talking about, but he just likes listening to the sound of Merlin’s voice. “You don’t have to go, here, have some more mead.”

Merlin laughs and moves his cup away. “Anyone would think you were trying to get me drunk. I’ll be fit for nothing in the morning if I have any more.”

Arthur doesn’t point out that most of Merlin’s activities take place at night, and are probably easier with a drink or three inside him anyway. 

Merlin smiles again and puts his hand on Arthur’s knee. “You seem distracted tonight. Perhaps you should get some sleep.”

He does not pull his eyes from Merlin’s face, but every part of Arthur’s being is now focused on that patch of warmth on his knee where Merlin’s hand rests, a strange tingling sensation running through him. 

“Perhaps I should.” His voice comes out a bit scratchy and he looks away, but that only makes him finally look down on Merlin’s hand on his knee, which Merlin is making no effort to move. Arthur swallows.

“I can’t help, if you like? If you’re having trouble sleeping. I mean, taking care of you is part of my job really.” It is hard to tell in the firelight, but Arthur could almost swear Merlin is blushing, a trait you might have thought he’d have grown out of by now.

Blush or no blush, Merlin is looking at him in a way that says he means every word, and whilst Arthur might wish he had not mentioned that this was merely a business transaction for him, he is not sure he has the strength to turn down such an offer. He finds his hand reaching for Merlin’s, still resting on his knee. “I think I would like that,” he says, feeling a blush stain his own cheeks. 

He leads Merlin to his tent, unsure of how to proceed. Does he pay Merlin up front? After? He has been to brothels in the city, but he’s never been the one to handle the transaction of coin. Would it offend Merlin to ask? Is the payment dealt with some other way? He should have asked Leon, it is too late now. 

Will Merlin take the initiative? Or will he expect Arthur to know what he is doing?

Arthur does not know what he is doing. He’s been with men before, of course. He’s even been with women. Nothing has ever felt like it mattered before though, and this, this really matters.

Perhaps he should just stop this now, say he has changed his mind. But Merlin’s hand his warm in his, and even though the shy smile he gives him must be well-practised, Arthur cannot turn away from this.

As soon as they are away from prying eyes, Merlin leans in and kisses him. His lips are plump and soft and if Arthur were to die like this, he might die happy. He coaxes Merlin’s mouth open, aware that perhaps this is going a little too far but unsure of Merlin’s boundaries. Although a little hesitant at first, Merlin soon seems to warm to the idea.

Merlin helps Arthur to remove his chainmail, not the most of comfortable clothing, and they both remove their boots before moving over to Arthur’s bed roll. At first they don’t really go any further than kissing and hands exploring over clothes. Arthur doesn’t remember when it is that Merlin’s hands are under his shirt rather than over it, or when he decided to help Arthur remove his shirt altogether, he only knows that somewhere along the line, Merlin lost his shirt too, and his pale skin glows in the candlelight. 

He stifles a moan as Merlin kisses his way down his body, slipping his hand into Arthur’s breeches and curling it around him. Arthur would let Merlin do pretty much anything to him right now, all thoughts of propriety or dignity long flown away and everything in his life coming down to this moment, this man, this action that he refuses to think of as anything other than lovemaking. Is Merlin even aware that right now he holds the prince of Camelot in the palm of his hand? Well, literally, obviously, there is no way Merlin cannot be aware of it, but figuratively too, Arthur is his, and completely at his mercy.

He watches, mesmerised as Merlin removes Arthur’s breeches, his own soon following. 

Once naked, Merlin stretches himself down on top of Arthur once more to kiss him again, and Arthur bites back a moan as their hard cocks rub together. Merlin grins as he moves again, and Arthur tears his mouth from Merlin’s and throws his head back with a moan that this time he cannot repress.

Merlin moves back down Arthur’s body, and it is all Arthur can do to watch, mesmerised as Merlin takes his cock into the warmth of his mouth. There is nothing Arthur can do to stop the string of expletives that come out of his own mouth.

Merlin takes his time to get a rhythm, and despite Merlin’s profession it is definitely not the best blow job Arthur ever had, but at the same time it’s the absolute best thing in the world. Arthur lasts an embarrassingly short time, even watching Merlin’s perfect lips around his cock would be enough to set him off. 

“I… I’m…” he starts to say, and Merlin looks up and meets his eyes and he never gets the rest of the sentence out as he starts coming into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin seems to be unsure whether to pull off or no, ending up doing a bit of both, the result of which being that Arthur rather likes the sight of his come on Merlin’s face.

Merlin raises a hand to wipe it away and then leans down to kiss Arthur again. Arthur can’t even object to the taste of himself on Merlin. 

He’s not sure what Merlin will do next, he can feel that he is still hard against his leg. Will Merlin want to penetrate him? Arthur’s never done that, not that way around, but he would let him. Arthur would let him do anything. 

Instead Merlin sits back and takes himself in hand. Arthur is torn between wanting to watch and wanting to touch, opting after a moment to replace Merlin’s hand with his own. Merlin doesn’t last much longer than Arthur had, and they lie for a moment in comfortable silence as they process what has just happened. 

“I’d better be going.” Merlin sounds reluctant as he rises and begins gathering his clothes.

Arthur desperately wants to tell him to stay, but he can’t. Maybe this is just business to Merlin, not an emotional attachment, not like it is for Arthur. He watches as that pale skin is hidden once more beneath layers of baggy clothes.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too clingy or desperate. Hoping he hasn’t ruined the fledgling friendship they seemed to have built.

Merlin smiles and leans in for another kiss. “Of course,” he says.

Arthur watches him leave, feeling a strange sense of loss. It is only once Merlin has gone that he remembers he never asked about payment.

 

***

 

Merlin is either the worst whore in the world or the best and Arthur cannot make his mind up which it is. 

On one hand, he does not seem to have the first clue what he is doing, and Arthur keeps having to explain what to do. On the other hand, no one has ever made Arthur feel like this. Perhaps it is all an act, pretending to be naive and clueless so Arthur forgets about all the other men Merlin shares his favours with. Arthur is happy to forget they exist, to pretend that Merlin is his and his alone.

They have yet to actually progress much further than they did that first night. Merlin comes to sit by Arthur’s fire each night, they drink, sometimes they eat, then they retreat to Arthur’s tent and explore each other’s bodies. The thing is, Arthur rather likes the fumbling way Merlin is with him, like exploring his body is a treat or a sweetmeat that he rarely gets to enjoy. Like the feeling of Arthur’s mouth on him is something new and wonderful. Arthur finds himself hoping that the Merlin who comes to him is the real Merlin, and the act is simply what he shows everyone else. He knows he is being foolish.

There has still been no mention of money, although Merlin must surely know that Arthur is good for it. Indeed, why else would he spend so much time with the prince if there was nothing to be gained? Does Merlin have his eye on some sort of bigger picture? Perhaps this is an even bigger rouse than Arthur thinks and Merlin plans on blackmailing him. Arthur hopes that is not the case, not least because Uther would would put Merlin on the gallows faster than he could blink, and Arthur rather likes having him around.

Arthur rubs a hand over his face and sighs. He is devoting far too much time to thinking about Merlin – Morgana would tell him he is thinking with the wrong head. He should be concentrating on bringing this seige to an end with as little bloodshed as possible, so they can all go home before the winter sets in – and so they can see the people of Essitir with grain in their stores before then too. 

They draw ever closer to a peace treaty with Lot. If Merlin’s goal is to get Arthur to keep him on back in Camelot, Arthur will gladly comply, although he will not share him with Leon or anyone else. Perhaps he could make Merlin his manservant, with special duties. Perhaps he could make Merlin his manservant without special duties, and the rest Merlin might do not for pay, but because he wants to. 

And there, his depraved mind is back on Merlin. 

Arthur glances up to see the man in question walking towards his campfire. If he were a better man, he would stop this, whatever it is. He would let Merlin just be his friend without taking advantage of his situation.

Arthur is not a stronger man.

Arthur is weak and human and lonely and touch-starved… and completely besotted with the man who is now sitting down next to him and flashing him that brilliant smile that seems to rob Arthur of all reason.

Arthur is not a strong man at all.

If Merlin were a plant from Lot’s army, a spy, a honey trap, Arthur would be easy prey. And yet, all such thoughts just seem impossible to him. He believes in Merlin, his honesty, his loyalty. Merlin would not do such a thing. How he can believe this so strongly of someone he has only known a few weeks he cannot say, especially when his father brought him up to be suspicious of everyone. He just knows it in his very bones that Merlin would never betray him.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asks, smile slipping as he studies Arthur.

“Nothing.” Arthur tries to reassure him with a smile, taking Merlin’s hand in his and linking their fingers together. “Just wishing this seige would be over.” Not strictly true, there is a small, selfish, part of him that wants the siege to continue so he can keep Merlin’s company. 

Merlin squeezes his hand and smiles again, an attempt at a cheeky smile, although he fails to mask a fleeting look of concern in his expressive eyes. “I bet I can make you feel better.”

And yes, Arthur is fairly sure that Merlin can make him feel better and he should say no. But he can’t. He smiles and stands, pulling Merlin back to his feet and leading him to his tent.

Arthur is not a strong man.

***

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Merlin says, biting his lip and not quite meeting Arthur’s eye.

“That sounds dangerous.” Arthur keeps his tone light and teasing, meanwhile his senses go on full alert. Is this it? Is this when Merlin finally reveals what he wants from this… relationship? Arrangement? 

Merlin gently elbows him in the ribs and turns those soulful eyes on him. “You can, if you want.” He says it so earnestly, like Arthur is supposed to know what it is that he can do.

“I can?”

Merlin nods. “If you want. I mean, you don’t have to, but, you know.”

No, actually, Arthur does not know. He smiles, hoping his complete cluelessness does not show through.

“I brought some grease.” Merlin fishes a small jar from his pocket, and the blush that stains his cheeks, his neck and even the tips of his ears is endearing to say the least.

And just like that, the reality of what Merlin is offering sinks in.

‘If you want,’ Merlin had said, like there was any way that Arthur would not want. And now he cannot shake the idea from his head. 

He has lain with men before, but it was always a quick hook up, a way of relieving the pent-up stress of war. It has always been quick and dirty – a lot of mead, a bit of spit and and unspoken agreement to never mentioned it.

What Merlin is offering somehow seems so much more.

It’s a silly thing to think, Merlin must do this with a lot of men, but Arthur can’t help feeling that Merlin is offering more than his body, he is offering his very soul to Arthur’s care. The sheer weight of such a precious burden almost has Arthur running away from the responsibility, and yet there is truly nothing he wants more in the world than to be with Merlin, in any and every way he can.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and his voice comes out all scratchy so it barely sounds like his voice at all.

Merlin places the jar in Arthur’s hand and closes his fingers around it, nodding as he does and gazing at Arthur with a level of trust that Arthur is not at all sure he deserves but is determined not to break.

He leans in and presses his lips to Merlin’s, gently, as though Merlin might suddenly fade away like one of those dreams that you know was good but you can’t quite remember.

They head into Arthur’s tent once more, and this time it is Arthur who undresses Merlin. There is an air of reverence to the task, because Merlin’s body is something to be worshiped, and to prove that point Arthur presses kisses to every bit of blushing skin he reveals.

Arthur is determined to make this the best night Merlin can remember, blot out all the other men so Merlin only ever wants him. 

He takes his time, drawing out every needy moan from Merlin that he can, making the other man writhe on his bed roll, begging for more. Merlin has a particularly sensitive neck, and Arthur loves nothing better than to spend his time marking that neck so Merlin has to wear scarves to cover it. It is only right, Merlin’s neck is so beautiful it should be illegal, and Arthur would be perfectly happy if no one but him ever saw it.

He takes Merlin’s cock into his mouth, he has done this many times over the last few weeks, but he will never grow tired of it, and he likes the idea that the others probably do not do this for Merlin. He dips his fingers into the lubricant and reaches back to lightly brush over Merlin’s hole.

He is pleased to note that whatever else Merlin’s job has lead him to today, he has not given anyone else this. Merlin is surprisingly tight, and the little sounds him he makes as as Arthur’s fingers prepare him will be enough to fuel Arthur’s fantasies for the rest of his life.

Breathy moans and swear words escape from Merlin as Arthur finally pushes in, and he leans down to try and capture them with his mouth. He has no idea how Merlin can be so tight, perhaps most people only want that sinful mouth of his and this particular act is not something he does so often. Perhaps this is something just for Arthur. 

Merlin is making little ‘ah, ah’ sounds, his fingers digging into Arthur’s bum even as he tries to pull him closer, almost like he is unsure if he wants Arthur to stop or carry on. When Arthur is finally as far inside Merlin as he can possibly go, he stops and rests his forehead on Merlin’s, feeling a connection deeper than the mere physical.

Eventually, it could have been seconds, it could have been hours, Merlin seems to relax around him. He winds his legs around Arthur’s middle in a silent plea to move.

Arthur tries to take things slowly, although every instinct is telling him to rut into Merlin hard and fast, to stake his claim and mark his territory so no one ever dare touch what his his again. He takes his time, makes sure to find Merlin’s prostate, which is worth it for the way Merlin’s eyes widen and the surprised ‘oh’ he breathes out as he throws his head back.

But Arthur can’t keep up the slow pace for long, and he soon picks up speed, encouraged by Merlin’s moans and demands for more.

Merlin comes first, but not by much, and as soon as he feel Merlin start to tighten around him as he shouts out his release, Arthur finally lets go.

“I love you,” Merlin whispers, so soft Arthur might not have heard it if they weren’t so close they were practically sharing a heartbeat. He doesn’t reply, but tries instead to put everything about the way he feels into the kiss he presses to Merlin’s lips.

After a moment, Merlin moves to fetch a cloth to clean them both up but Arthur pushes him back down and fetches the cloth and a bowl of water himself. Once clean, he pulls his blankets over them and pulls Merlin to him.

“I should go.” Merlin makes no move to actually do so.

Arthur winds his fingers through Merlin’s. “Stay?”

 

***

 

Last night will be etched onto Arthur’s memory forever. The sounds Merlin had made were exquisite. If Arthur had been unaware of Merlin’s profession, he might have let himself believe that Merlin had truly never done this before, that he, Arthur, was his first and only. He might have believed all of it, even the whispered ‘I love you’. 

But in the cold light of day, doubt plagues his soul once more. Merlin had stayed the night, but he crept away like a thief as dawn broke, and Arthur had pretended to be asleep. Arthur _is_ aware of Merlin’s profession, he knows that he has probably repeated that same act with countless others. He cannot allow himself to fall, there is too much at stake. 

Sighing, he bends down to go into Leon’s tent. He thinks he may have made some headway with Lot today – although the man will never forgive Arthur personally for the death of his son, both sides can agree that this siege has gone on long enough. Leon, as his second, should have been there, but a leg injury three weeks ago has kept him from getting about.

Arthur’s breath stops as his eyes adjust to the candlelight within the tent and he sees Merlin kneeling on the floor at Leon’s feet. It is one thing to know what Merlin does, it is quite another to see it. 

Just as he is about to make his excuses and flee the tent, he becomes aware of another person present. 

“That seems to be healing very nicely, Merlin has been doing an excellent job.” Gaius, the aging court physician steps forward to examine the long gash down Leon’s right leg. 

Merlin, however, looks up the moment he senses Arthur, a grin breaking out on his face. 

“Sire, what news from the front?” Leon, ever one for rank and propriety, looks like he is about to try and stand.

“Rest, Leon,” he says, forcing a smile. “All went well, I believe an accord will be reached before the week’s end.” He turns his smile to encompass Gaius and Merlin, still kneeling at Leon’s feet, a bandage roll in his hand.

“You can redress the wound now, Merlin.” Gaius nudges him before turning to Arthur. “I trust you are keeping well, Sire? Have you met my new assistant, Merlin? My nephew, he joined us at the border.”

Arthur does recall Gaius saying he was taking on another assistant, having left his apprentice behind to take care of the citizens of Camelot in his absence – ideally it would have been the apprentice who travelled with them, Gaius is not getting any younger and the journey has taken its toll. However, Arthur had quickly forgotten about all this, leading the army itself taking most of his time.

If Merlin is Gaius’s assistant, that would involve going from tent to tent to check on the patients. If Merlin is Gaius’s assistant, it seems unlikely he would also be sleeping with his patients for money…

“We’ve met,” he hears himself say.

It had been Merlin who made the first move, right? Arthur didn’t take advantage of him, did he? He frantically plays their whole relationship back in his head. Had he somehow lead Merlin to believe he had no choice but to do as the Prince said? It had been Merlin who approached him first…

And the way Merlin had been last night… how he was so tight, the sounds he made… like he’d never been fucked before. What has Arthur done?

He makes small talk for the shortest time he can get away with before making his way back to his own tent.

He is a monster, an animal, he took what was not his to take. Had Merlin even known he could say no?

The tent flap opens and Arthur knows it is Merlin, although he can’t bring himself to look at him.

“Arthur?” Merlin sounds uncertain. “Is everything alright?”

Arthur looks at him then. “Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

Merlin frowns and sits down next to him. “For what?”

“For taking advantage of you. For what I did to you. Last night I—”

“Please don’t.” Merlin is shaking his head, the frown on his face growing deeper. “Don’t you dare apologise for last night.”

“But I…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it, Arthur. I can’t hear that you regret what we did, because I never will. That was the best night of my life, and I accept that you are a prince and I am a lowly physician’s assistant, and you may well want nothing more to do with me, but please do not take last night away from me.” Merlin is on his feet again now, pacing the tent.

“You don’t regret it?”

“Why on earth would I regret it?”

“I took advantage of you.”

Merlin stares at him a moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I did. I should never hav—mphf.” 

Merlin silences him by pressing his mouth to Arthur’s. “You are a clotpole, Arthur, but I was rather hoping you were my clotpole. Nothing happened between us that I didn’t want to happen, and when I told you I love you I meant every word.”

“I—” Arthur has to take a moment to process what Merlin has just said. “I love you too.”

Merlin smiles, that great big smile that uses his whole face, his whole being. “Well, now that we have that sorted out, I think it might be my turn to take advantage of you.”


End file.
